
Class. 
Book 



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COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT. 




NEW YORK 

BARSE AND HOPKINS 

PUBLISHERS 







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Copyright, 1913, by^ 
BARSE AND HOPKINS 

The publishers and compilers take pleasure in acknowl- 
edging the following courteous permissions to use copy- 
righted material, as follows: To Messrs. B. W. Burleigh 
and G. G. Wenzlaff for Mr. Joseph Mills Hanson's " My Pal 
and I," from the third edition of "A Book of Dakota 
Rhymes ; " to Mr. Bliss Carman for an excerpt from " The 
Joys of the Road;" to Messrs. Small, Maynard and Com- 
pany for two stanzas from the late Richard Hovey's " Bar- 
ney McGee ; " to Mr. Charles Edward Russell for three 
stanzas from " Adam's Sons ; " to Mr. Mitchell Kennerley 
for Mrs. Theodosia Garrison's "A Thanksgiving;" and to 
Miss Rena Albertyn Smith, Miss Grace Berenice Cooper, 
and Messrs. H. C. Chatfield-Taylor, Roscoe Scott, Alex- 
ander Maclean, Christopher Bannister, Ernest L. Valentine, 
John Jarvis Holden, and George Shattuck, for many favors. 





ET this be said of comrades. Grounded 
*~* deep in love and rooted in unselfish- 
ness and true affection, our regard for 
them and theirs for us makes doubly fair 
the beauties of this our earth. The sympa- 
thy we gain from them urges us to the 
gentler life. Within their hearts our better 
memory is sacred, and our deeds appraised 
with justice, tempered by understanding. 
Unto them we yield the wearisome perplexi- 
ties of daily living for encouragement, solu- 
tion, and the strength to bear our bur- 
dens with good spirits and without despair. 
They share our joys as well, and to our 
happiest hours bring greater happiness. 
Were all the world alive with loving-kind- 
ness, as are they, halving our sorrows, 
doubling every gladness, no longer should 
we, troubled and forlorn, live out our days, 
but go rejoicing on, with every day inspired 
by comradeship. 

-^-Wallace Rice. 




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TO MY PAL 

E'VE ridden together in wind and 

rain, 
My pal and I, 
When the storm-king ruled on the rolling 

plain 
And the torn clouds romped in his whirling 
train, 
O'er the smitten sky. 

We've tramped together with gun and dog, 

My pal and I, 
And watched in the rain from a fallen log 
For the wild duck's flight through the river 
fog, 

When the dawn flushed high. 

We've supped together of joy and woe, 

My pal and I, 
We've whipped life's stream as the stream 

would flow 
And found all trails are less hard to go 
With each other by. 

— Joseph Mills Hanson. 

TJERE'S a health to my pal, my chum, 

•*• •*• My crony, companion, and mate! 

May sorrow to you be dumb, 
And the years all fortunate! 

Good comrade, whatever come, 
May your spirit stand elate 
And smile at the fling of Fate! 

— Alexander Maclean. 




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A PAL is the chap you spree with in the 
***' winter, and camp with in summer — the 
one you tell your pet schemes and your best 
girl's perfections, or, if you are married, the 
faults of your wife, at the hour when in all 
marital conscience your head ought to be 
on the pillow beside hers. If he lends you 
money when you need it, or helps your work 
when you are worn out, or comes to see you 
when you are ill, he ceases to be a Pal 
and becomes — that rarest of mankind! — a 
Friend. — H. C. Chatfield-Taylor. 

HAVE a friend, a man of many friends, 
* himself witty, wise, and eminent. I 
honor and respect him for these and for 
many other qualities; and there is no safer 
and surer basis for enduring affection than 
such esteem. But most of all, because most 
characteristic, do I love him for what he once 
described as "the desire to form the habit of 
good impulses." Could friendship ask for 
anything better? — Christopher Bannister. 

DON'T want no kind of angel with a 
*- lot of fluffy wings, 
And a golden harp and halo, and them other 

signs o' wealth; 
I jes' want the kind o' woman that jes' 

smiles and loves and sings: 
And I've got her — may God bless her! — 
here's her everlastin' health! 

— Alexander Maclean. 
8 




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T TOW far two girls may go together! 
**■ A Loving life as we love each other, 
through hours of grief and months of glad- 
ness, my pal and I have tramped a long, 
bright way. We have followed our hearts 
past many an old landmark, made new 
paths far from the open road, paused at 
Gethsemane, danced into Arcady, tiptoed 
toward the whisperings of far-off gods, and 
— oftenest of all — we have plodded blindly 
forward, led by the chaotic cries of the 
world. We are frequently foolish, and 
sometimes wise, my pal and I: playing, 
working, and telling our dreams, whether 
they are silly little illusions or glorious 
visions — which we, at least, always under- 
stand. It is June to-day : when will winter 
find us? — Rena Albertyn Smith. 

T^RIEND SHIPS should be formed with 
A persons of all ages and conditions, and 
with both sexes. It is a great happiness to 
form a single sincere friendship with a 
woman; compatible with the most perfect 
innocence, and a source of the highest possi- 
ble delight to those who are fortunate 
enough to form it. — Sydney Smith. 

\li 7"E love our mothers otherwise than we 
* * love our fathers; a sister is not as a 
brother to us; and friendship between man 
and woman, be it never so unalloyed and 
innocent, is not the same as friendship be- 
tween man and man. — Stevenson. 

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1 
3 



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1 

1 



A S, at a railway junction, men 
-**- Who came together, taking then 
One train up, one down, again 

Meet never! Ah, much more as they 
Who take one street's two sides, and say 
Hard parting words, but walk one way: 

Though moving other mates between, 
While carts and coaches intervene, 
Each to the other goes unseen; 

Yet seldom, surely, shall there lack 
Knowledge they walk not back to back, 
But with a unity of track, 

Where common dangers each attend, 
And common hopes their guidance lend 
To light them to the self -same end. 

Whether he then shall cross to thee, 

Or thou go thither, or it be 

Some midway point, yet ye shall see 

Each other, yet again shall meet. 
Ah, joy! when with the closing street, 
Forgivingly at last ye greet! 

— Arthur Hugh Clough. 

IT is well that there is no one without a 
*■■ fault; for he would not have a friend in 
the world. He would seem to belong to a 
different species. — William Hazlitt. 

10 









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pOME Micky and Molly and dainty 
^ Dolly, 

Come Betty and blithesome Bill ; 
Ye gossips and neighbors, away with your 
labors! 

Come to the top of the hill. 
For there are Jenny and jovial Joe; 
Jolly and jolly, jolly they go, 

Jogging over the hill. 

By apple and berry, 'tis twelve months merry 
Since Jenny and Joe were wed! 

And never a bother or quarrelsome pother 
To trouble the board or bed. 

So Joe and Jenny are off to Dunmow; 

Happy and happy, happy they go, 
Young and rosy and red. 

Oh, Jenny's as pretty as doves in a ditty; 

And Jenny, her eyes are black; 
And Joey's a fellow as merry and mellow 

As ever shouldered a sack. 
So quick, good people, and come to the show! 
Merry and merry, merry they go, 

Bumping on Dobbin's back. 

They've pranked up Dobbin with ribands 
and bobbin, 

And tethered his tail in a string! 
The fat flitch of bacon is not to be taken 

By many ' 
Good luc 



\ 







'O merry, merry, merry are we 
Happy as birds that sing in a tree! 
All of the neighbors are merry to-day, 
Merry are we and merry are they. 
O merry are we ! for love, you see, 
Fetters a heart and sets it free. 

'O happy, happy, happy is life 
For Joe (that's me) and Jenny my wife! 
All of the neighbors are happy, and say — 
"Never were folk so happy as they!" 

happy are we! for love, you see, 
Fetters a heart and sets it free. 

'O jolly, jolly, jolly we go, 

1 and my Jenny, and she and her Joe. 
All of the neighbors are jolly, and sing — ■ 
"She is a queen, and he is a king!" 

O jolly are we! for love, you see, 
Fetters a heart and sets it free.' 

— James Carnegie. 

FF you can imagine a dinner without salt, 
** a meal where bread, meat, vegetables are 
all equally vapid and tasteless, you can also 
imagine what life is without a pal ! 

— Ernest L. Valentine. 

A PAL is the meat in the sandwich of 
***• life, and, if you are lucky enough to 
have a girl for pal, both meat and mustard. 

— Ernest L. Valentine. 
12 



































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KNOW a thing that's most uncommon 
* (Envy, be silent and attend!) ; 

I know a reasonable woman, 

Handsome and witty, yet a friend. 

Not warped by passion, awed by rumor ; 

Not grave through pride, nor gay through 
folly; 
An equal mixture of good-humor 

And sensible soft melancholy. 

'Has she no faults then (Envy says), sir?' 

Yes, she has one, I must aver: 
When all the world conspires to praise her, 

The woman's deaf, and does not hear. 

— Alexander Pope. 

QONG have I known, and women and 

^ wine; 

Laughter and pleasure, long were they 

mine ; 
Days filled with sunshine, nights without 

end: 
Give me, for comfort, a good woman friend ! 

Often I sought and often I found 
Joy and delight and mirth without bound; 
These have I known, all these have I passed : 
Seeking a good woman's friendship at last. 

Pleasure is fickle, Mirth is a jade, 
Love is the jest of some jilting maid: 
Happiness lasts — what use to pretend? — 
Safe in the heart of a true woman friend. 

13 













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Merriment's fleeting — its cup must spill; 
Laughter is lovely, smiles fairer still : 
Sympathy brings a comrade complete, 
Friendship, like yours, life's last and best 
sweet. 

Take all the rest, the laughter, the kiss — 
These have I loved, yet these I'll not miss; 
Leave the affection years cannot scathe: 
Friendship, a woman's, as holy as faith. 

Fair is the spring and summer twice dear, 
Yet autumn brings the crown of my year ! 
Keep for me warmth in winter, and take 
Comradeship, friendship, for happiness' 
sake ! — John Jarvis Holden. 

/^MVE freely to the friend thou hast; 
^-* Unto thyself thou givest: 
On barren soil thou canst not cast, 
For by his life thou livest. 

Nay, this alone doth trouble me — 
That I should still be giving 

Through him unto myself, when he 
Is love within me living. 

I fain would give to him alone, 
Nor let him guess the giver; 
Like dews that drop on hills unknown 
To feed a lordly river. 

— John Adding ton Symonds. 
14 



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!N the downhill of life, when I find I'm 
■"• declining, 

May my fate no less fortunate be 
Than a snug elbow-chair will afford for re- 
clining, 
And a cot that o'erlooks the wild sea ; 
With an ambling pad-pony to pace o'er the 
lawn, 
While I carol away idle sorrow, 
And blithe as the lark that each day hails the 
dawn 
Look forward with hope for To-Morrow. 

From the bleak northern blast may my cot 
be completely 
Secured by a neighboring hill ; 
And at night may repose steal upon me 
more sweetly 
By the sound of a murmuring rill: 
And while peace and plenty I find at my 
board, 
With a heart free from sickness and sor- 
row, 
With my friends may I share what To-Day 
may afford, 
And let them spread the table To-Mor- 
row. — John Collins. 

lV/fY friend, my chum, my trusty crony! 
1" J. ^y e are design^ it seems to me, 

To be two happy lazzaroni, 
On sunshine fed, and macaroni, 
Far off by some Sicilian sea. 

15 



From dawn to eve in the happy land, 

No duty on us but to lie 
Straw-hatted on the shining sand, 
With bronzing chest and arm and hand, 

Beneath the blue Italian sky. 

There, with the mountains idly glassing 

Their purple splendors in the sea — 
To watch the white-winged vessels passing 
(Fortunes for busier fools amassing), 
This were a heaven for you and me. 

Our meerschaums coloring cloudy brown, 
Two young girls coloring with a blush, 
The blue waves with a silver crown, 
The mountain shadows dropping down, 
And all the air in perfect hush. 

Thus should we lie in the happy land, 

Nor fame, nor power, nor fortune miss; 
Straw-hatted on the shining sand, 
With bronzing chest and arm and hand — 
Two loafers couched in perfect bliss. 
— Charles Graham Halpine. 



sir, 



both 



my poor 



HHO-NIGHT, grave 
*■• house and I 

Do equally desire your company : 
Not that we think us worthy such a guest, 
But that your worth will dignify our feast, 
With those that come; whose grace may 

make that seem 
Something, which else would hope for no 

esteem. — Ben Jonson. 

16 


















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OVER the pipe the Angel of Conversa- 
tion 
Loosens with glee the tassels of his purse, 
And, in a fine spiritual exaltation, 

Hastens, a rosy spendthrift, to disburse 
The coins new minted of imagination. 
An amiable, a delicate animation 

Informs our thought, and earnest we re- 
hearse 
The sweet old farce of mutual admiration 
Over a pipe. 

Heard in this hour's delicious divagation 

How soft the song! the epigram how terse! 
With what a genius for administration 

We rearrange the rumbling universe, 
And map the course of man's regeneration 
Over a pipe. 
— William Ernest Henley. 

T^rE walked about saying nothing — be- 
* * cause we were friends, and talking 
spoils good tobacco. — Rudyard Kipling. 

VITHEN with an old friend 
* * I talk of our youth — 
How 'twas gladsome, but often 
Foolish, forsooth: 
But gladsome, gladsome! 

Then we go smoking, 
Silent and smug: 
17 



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Naught passes between us, 
Save a brown jug — 
Sometimes ! 

And sometimes a tear 

Will rise in each eye, 
Seeing the two old friends 

So merrily — 
So merrily! 

Thus, then, live I 

Till, 'mid all the gloom, 
By Heaven ! the bold sun 
Is with me in the room 
Shining, shining! 

— Edward Fitzgerald. 

\ It 7TTH an honest old friend and a merry 

* * old song, 
And a flash of old port, let me sit the night 

long, 
And laugh at the malice of those who repine 
That they must swig porter while I can 

drink wine. 

Then dare to be generous, dauntless, and 

gay, 
Let's merrily pass life's remainder away; 
Upheld by our friends, we our foes may 

despise, 
For the more we are envied, the higher we 

rise. — Henry Carey. 

18 



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JOHN ANDERSON, my jo, John 
** When we were first acquent, 
Your locks were like the raven, 

Your bonnie brow was brent; 
But now your brow is beld, John, 

Your locks are like the snaw ; 
But blessings on your frosty pow, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

John Anderson, my jo, John, 

We clamb the hill thegither; 
And monie a canty day, John, 

We've had wi' ane anither: 
Now we maun totter down, John, 

But hand in hand we'll go, 
And sleep thegither at the foot, 

John Anderson, my jo. 

— Robert Burns. 



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4FX1HEE, Mary, with this ring I wed,' 
A So, fourteen years ago, I said — 
Behold another ring! — 'For what?' 
'To wed thee o'er again — why not?' 

With that first ring I married Youth, 
Grace, Beauty, Innocence, and Truth; 
Taste long admired, sense long revered, 
And all my Molly then appeared. 

If she, by merit since disclosed, 
Prove twice the women I supposed, 
I plead that double merit now 
To justify a double vow. 

19 


































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To thee, sweet girl, my second ring 
A token and a pledge I bring: 
With this I wed, till death us part, 
Thy riper virtues to my heart. 

For why? — They show me every hour, 
Honor's high thought, affection's power, 
Discretion's deed, sound judgment's sen- 
tence, 
And teach me all things — but repentance. 

— Samuel Bishop. 

T^OR woman is not undeveloped man, 
A But diverse: could we make her as the 

man, 
Sweet love were slain: his dearest bond is 

this, 
Not like to like, but like in difference. 
Yet in the long years liker must they grow: 
The man be more of woman, she of man : 
He gain in sweetness and in moral height, 
Nor lose the wrestling thews that throw the 

world ; 
She mental breadth, nor fail in childward 

care, 
Nor lose the childlike in the larger mind ; 
Till at the last she set herself to man, 
Like perfect music set to noble words: 
And so these twain, upon the skirts of Time, 
Sit side by side, full-summed in all their 

powers. 
Dispensing harvest, sowing the To-Be. 

— Alfred Tennyson. 
20 



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HPHE half-seen memories of childish days, 
-*■ When pains and pleasures lightly 
came and went; 
The sympathies of boyhood rashly spent 
In fearful wanderings through forbidden 
ways; 
The vague, but manly wish to tread the 
maze 
Of life to noble ends, — whereon intent, 
Asking to know for what man here is 

sent, 
The bravest heart must often pause, and 
gaze; 
The firm resolve to seek the chosen end 
Of manhood's judgment, cautious and 

mature — 
Each of these viewless bonds binds friend 
to friend 
With strength no selfish purpose can se- 
cure: 
My happy lot is this, that all attend 
That friendship which first came, and which 
shall last endure. 

— Aubrey Thomas Devere. 

\li rHERE the pools are bright and deep, 
* * Where the grey trout lies asleep, 
Up the river and o'er the lea, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the blackbird sings the latest, 
Where the hawthorn blooms the sweetest, 

21 



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Where the nestlings chirp and flee, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the mowers mow the cleanest, 
Where the hay lies thick and greenest; 
There to trace the homeward bee, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

Where the hazel bank is steepest, 
Where the shadow falls the deepest, 
Where the clustering nuts fall free, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

But this I know, I love to play, 
Through the meadow, among the hay; 
Up the water and o'er the lea, 
That's the way for Billy and me. 

— James Hogg. 

npo live within a cave — it is most good; 
*■■ But, if God make a day, 

And some one come, and say, 
'Lo, I have gathered fagots in the wood!' 

E'en let him stay, 
And light a fire, and fan a temporal mood! 

So sit till morning! when the light is grown 
That he the path can read, 
Then bid the man God-speed! 
His morning is not thine: yet must thou 

own 
They have a cheerful warmth — those ashes 
on the stone. 

— Thomas Edward Brown. 

99 














SAW her upon nearer view, 
**• A spirit, yet a woman too! 
Her household motions light and free, 
And steps of virgin liberty; 
A countenance in which did meet 
Sweet records, promises as sweet; 
A creature not too bright and good 
For human nature's daily food; 
For transient sorrows, simple wiles, 
Praise, blame, love, kisses, tears, and smiles. 

And now I see with eye serene 

The very pulse of the machine ; 

A being breathing thoughtful breath, 

A traveler between life and death; 

The reason firm, the temperate will, 

Endurance, foresight, strength, and skill; 

A perfect woman, nobly planned, 

To warm, to comfort, and command; 

And yet a spirit still, and bright 

With something of angelic light. 

— William Wordsworth. 

TTOW life behind its accidents 
* A Stands strong and self-sustaining, 
The human fact transcending all 
The losing and the gaining. 



And if the husband or the wife 
In home's strong light discovers 

Such slight defaults as failed to meet 
The blinded eyes of lovers, 

23 




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Why need we care to ask? Who dreams 
Without their thorns of roses, 

Or wonders that the truest steel 
The readiest spark discloses? 

For still in mutual sufferance lies 

The secret of true living; 
Love scarce is love that never knows 

The sweetness of forgiving. 

—John Greenleaf Whittier. 

TV T ARM AGE is like life in this— that it 



1VI 



is a field of battle, and not a bed of 



roses. 



— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



A S through the land at eve we went, 
***• And plucked the ripened ears, 
We fell out, my wife and I, 
We fell out, I know not why, 
And kissed again with tears. 

And blessings on the falling out 

That all the more endears, 
When we fall out with those we love, 

And kiss again with tears! 

For when we came where lies the child 

We lost in other years, 
There above the little grave, 
O there above the little grave, 
We kissed again with tears. 

— Alfred Tennyson. 
24 



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O 



LAY thy hand in mine, dear! 



We' 



old 



re growing 
But Time hath brought no sign, dear, 

That hearts grow cold. 
'Tis long, long since our new love 

Made life divine; 
But age enricheth true love, 

Like noble wine. 



< 



And lay thy cheek to mine, dear, 

And take thy rest ; 
Mine arms around thee twine, dear, 

And make thy nest. 
A many cares are pressing 

On this dear head; 
But Sorrow's hands in blessing 

Are surely laid. 



■- 



i 



O, lean thy life on mine, dear! 

'Twill shelter thee. 
Thou wert a winsome vine, dear, 

On my young tree: 
And so, till boughs are leafless, 

And song-birds flown, 
We'll twine, then lay us, griefless, 

Together down. 

— Gerald Massey. 






■"\ARBY dear, we are old and grey, 
*~^ Fifty years since our wedding day, 
Shadow and sun for every one 

25 




ii 



! 



As the years roll on; 

Darby dear, when the world went wry, 

Hard and sorrowful then was I — 

Ah! lad, how you cheered me then, 

'Things will be better, sweet wife, again!' 

Always the same, Darby my own, 

Always the same to your old wife Joan. 



i 



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:, 



Hand in hand when our life was May, 
Hand in hand when our hair is grey, 
Shadow and sun for every one 
As the years roll on; 

Hand in hand when the long night-tide 
Gently covers us side by side — 
Ah ! lad, though we know not when, 
Love will be with us for ever then: 
Always the same, Darby my own, 
Always the same to your old wife Joan. 
— Frederic Edward Weatherly. 



% 



rilHE faults of married people continually 
*■* spur up each of them, hour by hour, to 
do better and to meet and love upon a higher 
ground. And ever, between the failures, 
there will come glimpses of kind virtues to 
encourage and console. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 



A MIND that thinks no honest friend- 
•**• ship is possible between man and 
woman is tainted with dishonor. 

— Ernest L. Valentine. 
26 






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THESE long days measured by my little 
feet 
Had chronicles which yield me many a 
text; 
Where irony still finds an image meet 
Of full-grown judgments in this world 
perplexed. 
One day my brother left me in high charge, 
To mind the rod, while he went seeking 
bait, 
And bade me, when I saw a nearing barge, 
Snatch out the line, lest he should come 
too late. 
Proud of the task, I watched with all my 
might 
For one whole minute, till my eyes grew 
wide, 
Till sky and earth took on a strange new 
light 
And seemed a dream-world floating on 
some tide — 
A fair pavilioned boat for me alone 
Bearing me onward through the vast un- 
known. 

But sudden came the barge's pitch-black 
prow, 
Nearer and angrier came my brother's 
cry, 
And all my soul was quivering fear, when 
lo! 
Upon the imperiled line, suspended high, 





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A silver perch! My guilt that won the 
prey, 
Now turned to merit, had a guerdon rich 
Of hugs and praises, and made merry play, 
Until my triumph reached its highest 
pitch 
When all at home were told the wondrous 
feat, 
And how the little sister had fished well. 
In secret, though my fortune tasted sweet, 

I wondered why this happiness befell. 
'The little lass had luck,' the gardener said: 
And so I learned, luck was with glory wed. 

We had the selfsame world enlarged for 
each 
By loving difference of girl and boy: 
The fruit that hung on high beyond my 
reach 
He plucked for me, and oft he must em- 
ploy 
A measuring glance to guide my tiny shoe 
Where lay firm stepping-stones, or call 
to mind: 
'This thing I like my sister may not do, 
For she is little, and I must be kind.' 
Thus boyish will the nobler impulse learned 
Where inward vision over impulse reigns, 
Widening its life with separate life dis- 
cerned, 
A like unlike, a self that self -restrains. 
His years with others must the sweeter be 
For those brief days he spent in loving me. 

28 




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School parted us; we never found again 
That childish world where our two spirits 
mingled 
Like scents from varying roses that remain 
One sweetness, nor can evermore be 
singled. 
Yet the twin habit of that early time 
Lingered for long about the heart and 

tongue : 
We had been natives of one happy clime, 
And its dear accent to our utterance 
clung. 
Till the dire years whose awful name is 
Change 
Had grasped our souls still yearning in 
divorce, 
And pitiless shaped them in two forms that 
range — 
Two elements which sever their life's 
course. 
But were another childhood-world my share, 
I would be born a little sister there. 

— George Eliot. 



rpHERE is no friend like a sister, 
A In calm or stormy weather, 
To cheer one on the tedious way, 
To fetch one if one goes astray, 
To lift one if one totters down. 
To strengthen whilst one stands. 

— Christina Georgina Rossetti. 
29 




Tirr r--- 1 --- 1- rmv«" 11 n 1 



17o mr JPa/ 




X^riTH this sweet, slender girl there is 
* * surcease 
Of sorrow, and upon her gentle voice 
Great comfort ever. Would I grieve, new 
lease 
Of cheer from her constrains me to re- 
joice. 
Serene, she leaves my sorrowing caprice; 
For, knowing grief, she makes so wise a 
choice 
That on her lips and in her glance is 
peace, 
Dismissing there life's crosses and annoys. 
Far younger she than I, yet has she taught 
Me wisdom; nay, she teaches every day 
That little things deserve but little thought, 
Less worry, lest some great thing go 
astray. 
So march the quickened hours refreshed 

and bright : 
My one small sister — my one great delight! 

When I am gone, and of my joy and woe 

Nothing at all remains, except perchance 
These little verses, may who reads them 
know 
That Heaven to me man's final blessing 
grants : 
Worn and weary, I love and cherish one 

To whom the tendrils of my heart go out, 
Of nights my guiding-star, each morn my 





Pointing to hope, dispelling clouds of 
doubt ; 
And she, inevitably, simply good, 

Unmurmuring, and quick with gentle 
glee, 
Loves me, unworthy; with her youthful 
blood 
Dissolves my cares and ever strengthens 
me. 
Which is the heavenlier I cannot tell, 
That she loves me, or I love her so well. 

— Wallace Rice. 

A SISTER is a sort of sweetheart who 
*** doesn't require attention; a kind of 
housekeeper you can't fall in love with; an 
agreeable spinster you can't marry. In 
short, a sister is as nice as — well, as some- 
body else's wife, without being dangerous. 

— T. W. Robertson. 



i 



i 






"NEARER than honors won or knowledge 
*^* gained in college, is the memory of the 
comrades I had there — little more than a 
memory now, because I seldom see the pals 
of my old days. For four years the chaps 
at college broadened my heart as much as 
the faculty sought to broaden my intellect; 
but each June there came partings, all with 
"Remember!" and then no more of their firm 
handclasps and jolly voices. Too busy in 
the workaday world to hunt them up, too 

31 



BE 



sas 



h*- 1 ■■ ■'. '.i-Vr'i'f'i t'lliB 



b my J°a/ 












busy for class reunions, too busy to write; 
yet many a time when I see my college 
colors on the sky, I remember my old pals. 
And sometimes I try to sing the brave col- 
lege songs, but I can't put much zest into 
the words without my old comrades to sing 
with me, and my voice trails off into a 
lonesome silence. — Roscoe Scott. 

/~\LT) friend of mine, you were dear to 
^-^ my heart, 

Long, long ago, long ago. 
Little did we think of a time we should part. 

Long, long ago, long ago. 
Hand clasped in hand through the world we 

would go. 
Down our old untrodden path the wild 

weeds grow! 
Great was the love 'twixt us ; bitter was the 
smart: 

Old friend of mine long ago. 

Oft I muse at the shadowy nightfall 

Over the dear Long Ago, 
Borne on tears arises the dark, dark pall, 

Fallen on my heart long ago. 
Love is not dead, though we wander apart; 
How I could clasp you, old friend, to my 

heart ! 
Barriers lie between us, but God knoweth 
all, 

Old friend of mine long ago. 

— Gerald Massey. 



I 






s 




'o my tPa/ 









T5R0THER of mine, and more than 
*-* brother, friend, 
Companion, comrade- through long happy 
days, 
Only, years after, do I comprehend 

The love that lighted all my little ways: 
How patiently you guided my young life 
Straight to the soul of bird and beast and 
wood, 
Taught me their secret loves and sylvan 
strife, 
A world in little, till I understood! 
How warnings 'gainst the larger world you 
knew, 
Dictated by aff ection, saved my feet 
From stumbling, until I, still following you, 
Sought the high goal beyond the mart 
and street! 
The all I am, the more I fain would be 
Are yours, my brother, dearest friend to me, 
— Christopher Bannister. 









IT is a half-blind life a boy leads who has 
* not the wit to make a pal of his sister. 
Soon or late it will dawn upon him that she 
is the only boy's sister he knows that does 
not live for his bewilderment and mystifica- 
tion. But, if he have the good sense to have 
her as his good comrade and sure ally, there 
is no net spun nor witchery spelled by other 
boys' sisters that she cannot give him the 
secret of with one glance of her level eyes. 

33 







I 



\ 






I 



TK rHAT means my friend to me? 

* * Kindness and courtesy: 
Courteous and kind is he. 

What means my friend to me? 
High generosity: 
Generous of self is he. 

What means my friend to me? 
All love and amity: 
Friendship's own self is he. 

What means my friend to me? 
Chief of all, loyalty. 
Constant and true is he. 

And what mean I to him? 
Worthiness, to the brim, 
God willing, till life dim. 

— Christopher Bannister. 

"DEADING ends in melancholy! 
A ^ Wine breeds vices and diseases! 
Wealth's but a care, and Love but folly! 

Only Friendship truly pleases! 
My wealth, my books, my flask, my Molly, 

Farewell all, if Friendship ceases! 

—Matthew Prior. 

rpHERE are a few tilings sweeter in this 
•■■ world than the guileless, hot-headed, in- 
temperate, open admiration of a junior. 

— Rudyard Kipling. 
34 



I 



| 



•. 






i 














3 






A PAL is one with whom I may be my- 
4 **' self, therefore one with whom I may 
be true. If speaking the intrinsic truth 
with him leads to error, it has its rise, not 
in our comradeship, nor in the truth, but in 
myself. Our relationship demands that I 
should find a fault in myself before I seek 
it in my pal. — Rena Albertyn Smith. 

npHE millioned city cannot be to me 
-■■ The busy streets that reach for many 
a mile, 
Nor all the toil and trade, the gold and 
guile, 
And fond ambitions, baffled or set free; 
Nor yet the marts and fanes where destiny 
Is working out salvation, where enisle 
The visioned beauties that leave earth 
a-smile : 
Sweeter and deeper lies the town I see. 

It lives enhallowed in some blessed friend 
Whose loving look meets mine before 'tis 

gone. 
In some chance meeting when affection 
shone ; 
Enshrined in rooms whose merry memories 
lend 
Joy to my happier self; and on, and on, 
Till friendship lights the town from end 
to end! 

— Wallace Rice. 
35 




* 
- 



: 









A N idle noon, a bubbling spring, 
** A sea in the pine-tops murmuring; 

A scrap of gossip at the ferry ; 
A comrade neither glum or merry, 

Asking nothing, revealing naught, 
But minting his words from a fund of 
thought ; 

A keeper of silence eloquent, 
Needy, yet royally well content, 

Of the mettled breed, yet abhorring strife, 
And full of the mellow juice of life, 

A taster of wine, with an eye for a maid, 
Never too bold, and never afraid, 

Never heart-whole, never heart-sick 
(These are the things I worship in Dick), 

No fidget and no reformer, just 

A calm observer of ought and must, 

A lover of books, but a reader of man, 
No cynic and no charlatan, 

Who never defers and never demands, 
But, smiling, takes the world in his hands — 

Seeing it good as when God first saw 
And gave the weight of His will for law. 

— Bliss Carman. 
36 










pOME, our old mate, come back to us 
^^ again ; 

Too long, too long you linger in the town ! 
The hazel-nuts are slipping in the lane, 

And in the holt the chestnut-burrs are 
brown : 
Come, our old mate, both old and young 
complain ! 

We tapped a cask of cider yesterday; 
To-morrow we shall thrash the walnut tree. 

O, we will feast you, if you come this way, 
On pies and cakes, and cream and frumenty ; 

And give you all our shares 
Of luscious Harvest plums and William 
pears. 

We never had such apples here before, 

And plumper, sweeter filberts never grew; 
And on the grape-vine by the garden door 
There still is left a goodly bunch or two: 
Come, our old mate, for you is all our store ! 
For you the medlars soften, one by one, 
And frequently on fresh, clean straw are 
laid; 
For you the bottled gooseberries are done, 
And currant wine and damson cheese are 
made: 
We will not think it true 
That country sweets are no more sweet to 
you! — Charles Dalmon. 















? 



-.. 







SLfflaU V i' JW: ::f*^.! 9 M^'j >i n. -.." • .. 'i . ' f jwgi g 



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If men, when they're here, could make shift 

to agree, 
An' ilk said to his neebor, in cottage an' 

ha', 
*Come, gi'e me your hand, — we are breth- 



ren aY 



I ken na why ane wi* anither should fight, 
When to 'gree would make a' body cosie an' 

right, 
When man meets wi' man, 'tis the best way 

ava, 
To say, 'Gi'e me your hand, — we are breth- 



ren a'.' 



My coat is a coarse ane, an' yours may be 

fine, 
And I maun drink water, while you may 

drink wine; 
But we baith ha'e a leal heart, unspotted to 

shaw: 
Sae gi'e me your hand, — we are brethren a'. 

The knave ye would scorn, the unfaithfu' 
deride ; 

Ye would stand like a rock, wi' the truth on 
your side; 

Sae would I, an' naught else would I value 
a straw: ,. 

Then gi'e me your hand, — we are breth- 
ren a'. 






■ 










I 






VTOUR soul, that for years I have counted 
* An open book, read to the end, 
Is lettered all strange, since a lover 

Looks out from the eyes of a friend; 
The white pages now are turned rosy, 

The chapters are numbered anew, 
The old plot is lost, and the hero, 

Who, up to last night, was just you — 

Just dear old friend Jack, and no other, 

To-night is a stranger, I vow; 
And though I am fain to be gracious, 

The truth is, I hardly know how: 
Where now is your celibate gospel? 

What now of love's follies and faults? 
Refuted last night when your lips, sir, 

Chasseed o'er my cheek in the waltz! 

Life-faith we swore, friendly fraternal 

To keep it — ah me, half a year ! — 
And I, Chloris now to your Strephon, 

Accept my new role with a tear — 
A tear for the dear old days ended, 

A tear for the friend lost for ay, 
For careless old comradeship fleeing 

For ever before love to-day. 

Dear, read me aright ! Though words falter 
And lips prove but dumb, your heart 
hears ; 
The Jack of to-day I love truly — 
Yet oh, for the Jack of old years! 

— Minnie Gilmore. 
39 



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*D EAL, substantial, enduring comrade- 
J * v ship is possible between man and 
woman: it is only the blunderers — those 
who try to avoid sex in such a relationship 
and find themselves enmeshed before they 
are aware — that doubt its possibility. 

— Rena Albertyn Smith. 

TJl 7"HEN you go away, my friend, 

* * When you say your last good-bye, 
Then the summer time will end 
And the winter will be nigh. 

Though the green grass decks the heather 
And the birds sing all the day, 

There will be no summer weather 
After you have gone away. 

You will feel a moment's sorrow; 

I shall feel a lasting grief; 
You, forgetting on the morrow; 

I, to mourn with no relief. 

When we say the last sad word 
And you are no longer near, 

And the winds and all the birds 
Cannot keep the summer here, 

Life will lose its full completeness — 

Lose it not for you, but me ; 
All the beauty and the sweetness 
Each can hold, I shall not see. 

— Ella Wheeler Wilcox. 
40 




















I perceive one picking me out by secret and 

divine signs, 
Acknowledging none else, not parent, wife, 

husband, brother, child, any nearer 

than I am, 
Some are baffled, but that one is not — that 

one knows me. 

— Walt Whitman. 












r> ARNEY McGEE, there's no end of 
*~* good luck in you, 

Will-o'-the-wisp, with a flicker of Puck in 

you, 
Wild as bull-pup, and all of his pluck in 
you — 
Let a man tread on your coat and he'll 
see! 
Eyes like the lakes of Killarney for clarity, 
Nose that turns up without any vulgarity, 
Smile like a cherub, and hair that is car- 
roty- 
Whoop, you're a rarity, Barney McGee! 
Mellow as tarragon, 
Prouder than Aragon — 
Hardly a paragon, 
You will agree — 
Here's all that's fine to you! 
Books and old wine to you! 
Girls be divine to you, 
Barney McGee! 
41 



\ 













You that were ever alert to befriend a man, 
You who were ever the first to defend a man, 
You had always the money to lend a man, 

Down on his luck and hard up for a V ! 
Sure, you'll be playing a harp in beatitude 
(And a quare sight you will be in that at- 
titude) — 
Some day, where gratitude seems but a plati- 
tude, 
You'll find your latitude, Barney McGee. 
That's no flimflam at all, 
Frivol or sham at all, 
Just the plain — damn it all, 

Have one with me! 
Here's one and more to you! 
Friends by the score to you, 
True to the core to you, 
Barney McGee! 

— Richard Hovey. 



i 






F)ALS are the mayonnaise on the salad of 

■*■ the hours, the dressing of the turkey of 
the months, and the sauce for the pudding 
of the years. — Ernest L. Valentine. 






A 



FRIEND loveth at all times. 

— Proverbs of Solomon. 



i 



DON'T know much about Bohemia, the 
land of song and wine; but I know that 

;here's wine ir 




<Q2E55252 



3STES 



AH,.U.WJ,IH1MIU 



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f) 









ITTLE girl of Long Ago, 
Eyes of blue and hair of tow, 
Cheeks as red as sunset skies, 
Lighting up your laughing eyes, 
How I loved you, did you know? 
Little. girl of Long Ago. 

I was shy and modest then : 
You were eight and I was ten; 
You were far above me, far 
As the distant shining star; 
But I loved you, even so, 
Little girl of Long Ago. 

Little girl of Long Ago, 
We are older, as you know ; 

Years have lengthened since we stood 

In the meadow near the wood, 
Where we quarreled, you and I, 
O'er a trifle, foolishly; 

And I left you, sobbing so, 

Little girl of Long Ago. 

Love has brought me home again; 
We are more than eight and ten, 

And my heart longs for you so 

Little girl of Long Ago! 
Here's the meadow and the wood; 
Here's the very spot we stood: 

Ah! what means that blushing 

Little 




f. 



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\7[ 7TIEN we were girl and boy together, 
* * We tossed about the flowers 

And wreathed the blushing hours 
In a posy green and sweet. 

I sought the youngest, best, 

And never was at rest 
Till I had laid them at thy fairy feet. 
But the days of childhood they were fleet, 

And the blooming sweet-briar-breathed 
weather, 

When we were boy and girl together. 

Then we were lad and lass together, 

And sought the kiss of night 

Before we felt aright, 
Sitting and singing soft and sweet. 

The dearest thought of heart 
With thee 'twas joy to part, 
And the greater half was thine, as meet. 
Still my eyelid's dewy, my veins they beat 

At the starry summer-evening weather, 

When we were lad and lass together. 

— Thomas Lovell Beddoes. 

T/*OtJR comradeship is for eternity, my 
A Pal; you are part of my being. If I 
swear to forget you, though we should part 
in anger, still something is there which can- 
not be taken away. You are mine. There 
was something unfinished about my life un- 
til I found you, and it can never be my life 
again without your share in it. Coming 
into it, you can never go out of it again. 
— Grace Berenice 










^^^^^MTIiririEiir it ' " \ „ -,, f \__0~ ^w~^^***~ "TIT ^'" T ' ■ ' ■ '' r " 







npHE human soul that crieth at thy gates, 
**" Of man or woman, alien or akin, 
'Tis thine own Self that for admission 
waits — 

Rise, let him in. 

Bid not thy guest but sojourn and depart, 
Keep him, if so it may be, till the end, 
If thou have strength and purity of heart 
To be his friend. 

Not only, at bright morn, to wake his mind 
With noble thoughts, and send him forth 
with song, 
Nor only, when night falls, his wounds to 
bind ; 

But all day long 

To help with love, with labor, and with lore, 
To triumph when, by others' aid, he wins, 
To carry all his sorrow's, and yet more — 
To bear his sins ; 

To keep a second conscience in thine own, 
Which suffers wound on wound, yet 
strongly lives, 
Which takes no bribe of tender look or tone, 
And yet forgives. 

— Constance Naden. 

AA/E are ninety-nine times disappointed in 
" * our beggarly selves for once that we 
are disappointed in our friend. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 
45 



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tTb my SPa/ 



| N stormy splendor sinks the sun 
*■• Down to his haven of rest; 
The golden purples change to dun, 
The crimsons fade, day's course is run 
At conquering night's behest. 

So mused I, gazing toward the west; 

Sad that the mournful day 
Of storm such radiance left unblest, 
Sad for the night not yet caressed 

By any hopeful ray. 

Till, where the great clouds darkest lay 

There grows a broadening rift, 
And there the first of heaven's array 
Shines dim, then brighter, till away 
The weary masses swift! 

So shines for me thy starry gift, 

The friendship I have won; 
The years' black shadows light and lift, 
The clouded sorrows sway and drift 

Before its benison. 

— John Jarvis Holden. 

T OVE smote the lyre of life: 
-*-^ And there was sound of strife. 
And chords with passion rife. 
When Friendship spoke his word, 
The lyre was softly stirred 
To music as it heard. 

— Wallace Rice. 
46 



5 










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^■■■^..UIJ.^WIVM.-'B; 



'o dMy SPa/ 















/^YNE thing that represses the utterances 
^^ of love is the shyness of the Anglo- 
Saxon blood. There is a powerlessness of 
utterance in us that we should fight against, 
and struggle outward toward expression. 
We can educate ourselves to it, if we know 
and feel the necessity; not only to love, but 
to be loving, — not only to be true friends, 
but to show ourselves friendly. We can 
make ourselves say the kind things that rise 
in our hearts and tremble back on our lips, 
— do the gentle and helpful deeds which we 
long to do and shrink back from ; and, little 
by little, it will grow easier, — the love 
spoken will bring the answer of love, — the 
kind deed will bring back a kind deed in re- 
turn. — Harriet Beecher Stowe. 

CHE was fresh and she was fair, 
^ Glossy was her golden hair; 
Like a blue spot in the sky 
Was her clear and loving eye. 

He was true and he was bold, 
Full of mirth as he could hold ; 
Through the world he broke his way 
With jest and laugh and lightsome lay. 

Love ye wisely, love ye well; 
Challenge then the gates of Hell. 
Love and truth can ride it out, 
Come bridal song or battle shout. 











i 



T ITTLE Miss Blue Eyes opens the door, 

**"^ 'Nobody's in,' says she. 
Little Miss Blue Eyes has evermore 
Stolen my heart from me. 

Little Miss Blue Eyes stands at the door, 
'Will you come in?' says she. 

'Papa'll be back in an hour or more ;' — 
Blue Eyes has seen through me. 

Little Miss Blue Eyes opes her heart's 
door, 

'Nobody's in,' says she. 
(Would I might venture that threshold o'er 

Into its sanctity.) 

Little Miss Blue Eyes, if you are kind, 

Keep me not at the door; 
Into your love, from the cold and wind, 

Take me, dear, evermore. 

Little Miss Blue Eyes stands at the door, 

Archly smiling at me: 
'Papa'll be back in an hour or more, 

Come in and wait,' says she. 

— Arthur Weir. 



TjMtlEND that sticketh closer than a 
*■* brother — eight years. Dashed slip of a 
girl — eight weeks! And — where's your 
friend? « — Rudyard Kipling. 

48 





















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<TAIDN'T you like the party, dear, to- 



D 



n 



ight 



(Silence. She turns her head the other 
way.) 
What have I done? Isn't my tie on 



(No 



right r 
answer- 
say.) 



-but her eyes have things to 



'Is it because I danced with Mrs. Chatt? 
Her husband made me, really.' (She is 
dumb.) 
'Surely you can't be jealous that I sat 
Out with the silly Grimes girl?' (She is 
mum.) 

'Well, I confess I ought to be accursed 
For talking shop at dinner.' (She is 
mute.) 
'I'm sorry that I used the wrong fork first.' 
(Her hush and nature's hush are abso- 
lute.) 

'Oh, very well, then, since you're bound to 
sneer, 
I can fight, too, if quarreling's such fun.' 
She speaks, she smiles! 'Why, I'm not an- 
gry, dear; 
I merely wished to know what you had 
done.* — Chester Firkins. 





But she's a Trojan — hard to beat 
As Hector, son of Priam! 

A winsome, willful morsel she: 
Brought up to grace a palace. 

She ran away to marry me — 
Half love, half girlish malice. 

She never has repented, though? 

We built a cot in Jersey: 
She wore delaine and calico, 

And I wore tweed and kersey. 

So great our love it bridged across 
Whatever might divide us. 

However went the gain or loss 
We felt as rich as Midas. 

I helped her with the brush and broom, 
Her morning labors aiding: 

She followed to the counting-room — 
Made out the bills of lading; 

And once, when sick of chills I lay, 
She balanced up the pages; 

Did all my work from day to day, 
And brought home all my wages. 

Yes; she's a Trojan! Hard to beat 

As all the sons of Priam: 
But, bless you! she's a world too sweet 

For such a man as I am! 












. 








"V/fY Friend wears a cheerful smile of his 
•^ •*■ own, 

And a musical tongue has he; 
We sit and look in each other's face 

And are very good company. 
A heart he has, full warm and red 

As ever a heart I see; 
And as long as I keep true to him, 

Why, he'll keep true to me. 



• 












His warm breath kisses my thin grey hair 

And reddens my ashen cheeks; 
He knows me better than you all know, 

Though never a word he speaks — 
Knows me as well as some had known 

Were things — not as things be. 
But hey, what matters? My Friend and I 

Are capital company. 

At dead of night, when the house is still, 

He opens his pictures fair: 
Faces that are, that used to be, 

And faces that never were: 
My wife sits sewing beside my hearth, 

My little ones frolic wild, 
Though — Lillian's married these twenty 
years, 

And I never had a child. 



But hey, what matters? when those who 
laugh 

to-morrow, 




T7b mytt/ 



\ 









I 



i 












Who weep be as those that weep not — all 

Their tears long wiped away. 
I shall burn out, my Friend, like you, 

With a bright heart warm and bold, 
That flickers up at the last — then drops 

Into quiet ashes cold. 

— Dinah Maria Muloch. 

CHUT in from all the world without, 
*^ We sat the clean-winged hearth about, 
Content to let the north wind roar 
In baffled rage at pane and door, 
While the red logs before us beat 
The frost line back with tropic heat ; 
And ever, when a louder blast 
Shook beam and rafter as it passed, 
The merrier up its roaring draught 
The great throat of the chimney laughed; 
The house dog on his paws outspread 
Laid to the fire his drowsy head, 
The cat's dark silhouette on the wall 
A couchant tiger's seemed to fall; 
And, for the winter fireside meet, 
Between the andirons' straddling feet, 
A mug of cider simmered slow, 
The apples spluttered in a row, 
And, close at hand, the basket stood 
With nuts from brown October's wood. 
What matter how the night behaved? 
What matter how the north wind raved? 
Blow high, blow low, not all its snow 
Could quench our hearth-fire's ruddy glow. 
— John Greenleaf Whittier. 
52 




■ 






$1 



% 



rpHERE is no friend like the old friend, 
**■ who has shared our morning days, 

No greeting like his welcome, no homage 
like his praise : 

Fame is the scentless sunflower, with gaudy- 
crown of gold; 

But friendship is the breathing rose, with 
sweets in every fold. 

There is no love like the old love, that we 

courted in our pride ; 
Though our leaves are falling, falling, and 

we're fading side by side, 
There are blossoms all around us with the 

colors of our dawn, 
And we live in borrowed sunshine when the 

day-star is withdrawn. 

There are no friends like the old friends, — 
may Heaven prolong their lives! 

There are no loves like our old loves, — God 
bless our loving wives ! 

— Oliver Wendell Holmes. 

T A 7"HAT can be more encouraging than to 
* * find the friend who was welcome at 
one age, still welcome at another? 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 

nPHERE'S no pleasure like meeting an 
A old friend, except, perhaps, making a 





i.-Wm.-ir-i'.'rS 



sss 



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omySPa/ 



WHILE the ruby coals in the dull grey 
dust 
Shine bright as the daylight dies; 
When into our mouths our pipes are thrust, 

And we watch the moon arise ; 
While the leaves, that crackle and hiss and 
sigh, 
Feed the flames with their scented oils, 
In a calm content by the fire we lie, 
And watch while the billy boils. 

A desire for rest, a wash in the creek, 

And a seasoned bit of clay, 
With a pal who knoweth the time to speak, 

And who singeth a jovial lay; 
Though the rich lie soft, yet we sleep as 
well 

On our bed of the fragrant leaves; 
And we're better than those who in man- 
sions dwell 

In this — that we have no thieves. 

Some look on our lives as wasted; true, 
And our views are the same as theirs — 
At present we've scarcely enough to do; 
They are worried with business cares. 
We have elegant leisure and time for 
thought — 
Had we something to think about — 
They have lots of wealth, and business 
fraught 
With a constant care and doubt. 

— Keighley Goodckild. 
54 




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"^b <^r J^ff / 



npHE spear-grass crackles under the billy 
A and overhead is the winter sun; 
There's snow on the hills, there's frost in the 

gully, that minds me of things I've seen 

and done, 
Of blokes that I knew, and mates that I've 

worked with, and the sprees we had in 

the days gone by ; 
And a mist comes up from my heart to my 

eyelids, I feel fair sick and I wonder 

why. 

There is coves and coves! Some I liked 

particler, and some I would sooner I 

never knowed ; 
But a bloke can't choose the pals that he's 

thrown with in the harvest paddock or 

here on the road. 
There was pals from the other side that I 

shore with that I'd like to have taken 

along for mates, 
But we said 'So long!' and we laughed and 

parted for good and all at the station 

gates. 

I mind the time when the snow was drifting 

and Billy and me was out for the 

night — 
We lay in the lee of a rock and waited, 

hungry and cold, for the morning light. 
Then he went one way and I went another 

— we'd been like brothers for half a 

year; 

55 









He said: Til see you again in town, pal, 
and we'll blow the froth off a pint of 
beer.' 

The same with Harry, the pal I worked with 

the time I was over upon the coast, 
He went for a fly-round over to Sydney, to 

stay for a fortnight — a month at most! 
He never came back, and he never wrote me 

— I wonder how blokes like him forget ; 
We had been where no one had been before 

us, we had starved for days in the cold 

and wet. 

It sets me thinking the world seems wider, 

for all we fancy it's middling small, 
When a chap like me makes friends in 

plenty and they slip away and he loses 

them all — 
The pals that I knowed and the mates I've 

worked with, and the sprees we had in 

the days gone by; 
But I somehow fancy we'll all be pen-mates 

on the day when they call the Roll of 

the Sky. — David McKee Wright. 

~\ID ever man have a better pal than a 
•*^ good dog? or woman a more devoted 
comrade than a good cat? And many a 
man of fame has loved his friendly, harmless, 
necessary cat and left words of affection 
to prove it, just as many a woman has found 
a dog her one unselfish lover through life. 



3 




<■ 






npHE Artist feeling for his type, 
**■ The rose may miss, the thorn may rue ; 
My dream is rounded with my pipe, 
My pipe and You. 

Renown's a shy and shifty snipe 

That other guns to death may do ; 
I trudge along towards my pipe, 
My pipe and You. 

For all the Fruits of Time were ripe, 

And all the Skies of Chance were blue, 
If only I possessed my pipe, 
My pipe and You. 

— William Ernest Henley. 

A STURDY fellow, with a sun-burnt 
** face, 

And thews and sinews of a giant mould; 
A genial mind, that harbored nothing base — 

A pocket void of gold. 

The rival's years were fifty at the least — 
Withered his skin, and wrinkled as a 
crone; 

But day by day his worldly goods increased, 
Till great his wealth had grown. 

And she, the lady of this simple tale, 
Was tall and straight, and beautiful to 
view; 
Even a poet's burning words would fail 
To paint her roseate hue. 

57 



_■ ■ • -■"--"-'" '■•' -'■'■-,' 



s 



1 



The suitors came, the old one and the young, 
Each with fond words her fancy to allure. 

For which of them should marriage bells be 
rung, 
The rich one, or the poor? 

She liked the young one with his winning 
ways, 
He seemed designed to be her future 
mate — 
Besides, in novels and romantic plays 
Love has a youthful gait. 

But well she knew that poverty was hard, 
And humble household cares not meant 
for her; 

Nor cared she what the sentimental bard 
Might warble or infer. 

She made her choice, the wedding bells rang 
clear ; 
The aged bridegroom figured in The 
Times. 
The young man, after some superfluous 
beer, 
Went forth to foreign climes. 

And this is all I ever chanced to know, 
Told by my mate while digging on the 
Creek, 
Who ended with his handsome face aglow, 
And with a verse in Greek. 

— Arthur Patchett Martin, 












yOU ask me 'Why I like him?' Nay, 
* I cannot; nay, I would not, say. 
I think it vile to pigeonhole 
The pros and cons of a kindred soul. 

You 'wonder he should be my friend.' 
But then, why should you comprehend? 
Thank God for this — a new — surprise: 
My eyes, remember, are not your eyes. 

Cherish this one small mystery; 
And marvel not that love can be 
'In spite of all his many flaws.' 
In spite? Supposing I said 'Because.' 

A truce, a truce to questioning: 
'We two are friends' tells everything. 
Yet if you must know, this is why: 
Because he is he and I am I. 

— Edward Verrall Lucas. 

A HUNDRED years from now, dear 
** heart, 

We will not care at all. 
It will not matter then a whit, 

The honey or the gall. 
The summer days that we have known 
Will all forgotten be and flown; 
The garden will be overgrown 

Where now the roses fall. 

A hundred years from now, dear heart, 





">;fwyjjw;gji».-i ji-i J .i<.'w«y 




The throbbing crimson tide of life 

Will not have left a stain. ( 

The song we sing together, dear, 
Will mean no more than means a tear 
Amid a summer rain. 

A hundred years from now, dear heart, 

The grief will all be o'er ; 
The sea of care will surge in vain 

Upon a careless shore. 
These glasses we turn down to-day- 
Here at the parting of the way : 
We will be wineless then as they, 

And will not mind it more. 



A hundred years from now, dear heart, 

We'll neither know nor care 
What came of all life's bitterness 

Or followed love's despair. 
Then fill the glasses up again 
And kiss me through the rose-leaf rain; 
We'll build one castle more in Spain 

And dream one more dream there. 

— John Bennett. 









f\ WOMAN! in our hours of ease, 
^-^ Uncertain, coy, and hard to please, 
And variable as the shade 
By the light quivering aspen made ; 
When pain and anguish wring the brow, 
A ministering angel thou! 

— Sir Walter Scott 
















A WIFE as tender, and as true withal, 
^* As the first woman was before her 

fall: 
Made for the man, of whom she was a part; 
Made to attract his eyes, and keep his heart. 
A second Eve, but by no crime accursed; 
As beauteous, not as brittle, as the first, 
Had she been first, still Paradise had been, 
And death had found no entrance by her 
sin. 

— John Dry den. 

f\NCE I was but a shipping clerk — 
^-^ Of firm of Graves & Gartner — 
Till, after long and weary work, 

They took me in as partner, 
And year on year went gayly round 

While we grew rich and richer, 
Until, in every spring we found, 

We dipped a golden pitcher. 
Then Gartner left, grown old and lame: 

I bought him out completely; 
Made wife a partner; changed the name 

To Wheatly, Graves & Wheatly. 

A silent partner? Not at all! 

With genius more than Sapphic, 
She improvised — that lady small — 

The poetry of traffic; 
And, flitting through our offices, 

With work and smile admonished: 

61 



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77b <&& JPa/ 
















'We'll work no metamorphoses 

To make a lie look honest.' 
Meantime the business grew and grew 

With not a cloud to daunten; 
Till wife, who wanted tea like dew, 

Sent me adrift for Canton. 

No sooner was I well at sea 

Than with a whirl insanic 
Down came that flood of 'seventy-three 

And shook the world with panic; 
Then many a house as strong as life 

Was caught and torn asunder, 
Till Graves came trembling to my wife 

And said, 'We're going under!' 
Wife saw the gulf and kept her poise ; 

Disposed of plate and raiment, 
Sold all her jewels (but the boy's), 

And met the heaviest payment. 

So Graves and she, with work and wit, 

With care and self-denial, 
Upheld the firm — established it 

The surer for the trial; 
Through all the strife they paid the hands 

Full price — none saw them falter; 
And now the house, rock-founded, stands 

As steady as Gibraltar; 
But wife keeps with us, guards us through 

Like Miriam watching Moses ; 
She drinks her tea as pure as dew, 

And sells it — fresh as roses! 

62 






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/^IREEN heads, grey heads, join in 
^-* chorus, 

All who can or cannot sing; 
Put your hearts into your voices 

Till we make the old house ring! 
Let us swear by all that's kindly, 

All the ties of old and young, 
We will always know each other 

As we've known each other long! 

By our schoolboy freaks together, 

In old days with mischief rife — 
Fellowship when youth on pleasure 

Flung away redundant life! 
By bereavements mourned in common; 

By the hopes, a flattering throng, 
We have felt when home returning, 

Parted from each other long! 

By the fathers who before us, 

Silver-haired together grew, 
Who so long revered each other — 

Let us swear to be as true! 
Swear no selfish jealous feeling 

E'er shall creep our ranks among, 
E'er make strangers of the kinsmen 

Who have known each other long! 

— Alfred Domett 



M 



; .. 



9 



A LL I ask of my pal is that he shall un- 
**• derstand me: if he grants me under- 
standing, he gives me a myriad gifts in one. 

63 




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"T/o 4Mv JPa/ 



TN the closest of all relations — that of a 
A love well founded and equally shared — 
speech is half discarded, like a roundabout 
infantile process or a ceremony of formal 
etiquettes; and the two communicate di- 
rectly by their presences, and with few looks 
and fewer words contrive to share their good 
and evil and uphold each other's hearts in 
joy. — Robert Louis Stevenson. 

T^uTHEN all the world is young, lad, 
* * And all the trees are green, 
And every goose a swan, lad, 

And every lass a queen, 
Then fly for boot and horse, lad, 

And round the world away ; 
Young blood must have its course, lad, 

And every dog his day. 

When all the world is old, lad, 

And all the trees are brown, 
And all the sport is stale, lad, 

And all the wheels run down, 
Come home and take your place there 

The spent and maimed among; 
God grant you find a face there 

You loved when you were young! 

— Charles Kingsley. 

rilHE great thing about having a pal is be- 
** ing one yourself. 

— George Shattuck. 
64. 

























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IN tattered old slippers that toast at the 

*• bars, 

And ragged old jacket perfumed with 

cigars, 
Away from the world and its toils and its 

cares, 
I've a snug little kingdom up four pair of 

stairs. 



r 






This snug little chamber is crammed in all 

nooks 
With worthless old knicknacks and silly old 

books, 
A twopenny treasury, wondrous to see; 
What matter? 'tis pleasant to you, friend, 

and me. 









But of all the cheap treasures that garnish 
my nest, 

There's one that I love and I cherish the 
best; 

For the finest of couches that's padded with 
hair 

I never would change thee, my cane-bot- 
tomed chair. 

'Tis a bandy-legged, high-shouldered, worm- 
eaten seat, 

With a creaking old back, and twisted old 
feet ; 

But since the fair morning when Fanny sat 
there, 




I bless thee and love thee, old cane bot- 
tomed chair. 

It was but a moment she sat in this place, 
She's a scarf on her neck and a smile on her 

face! 
A smile on her face, and a rose in her hair, 
And she sat there, and bloomed in my cane- 
bottomed chair. 

And so I have valued my chair ever since, 
Like the shrine of a saint, or the throne of 

a prince; 
Saint Fanny, my patroness sweet I declare, 
The queen of my heart and my cane-bot- 
tomed chair. 



When the candles burn low, and the com- 
pany's gone, 
In the silence of night as I sit here alone — 
I sit here alone, but we yet are a pair — 
My Fanny I see in my cane-bottomed chair. 






She comes from the past, and revisits my 

room ; 
She looks as she then did, all beauty and 

bloom ; 
So smiling and tender, so fresh and so fair, 
And yonder she sits in my cane-bottomed 
chair. 

^—William Makepeace Thackeray. 
66 




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DOLISH? Not much, but who cares for 
-*■ that, if the heart be as true as steel, 
And the kindly eyes look straight into 

yours, with a look you can almost feel; 
And the voice rings true in its welcome, 

though the sound be a trifle gruff? 
If that's what you call rough manners, I 

own I prefer them rough. 

There's many a nobleman, born and bred, 

with money in heaps to spend, 
And a mincing voice and a shiny hat, and 

manners and style no end; 
But I know that if they went missing I 

should feel pretty happy still, 
If I only could have another day and a 
shake of the hand with Bill. 

— Rudolph Chambers Lehmann. 

r\ WHERE would I be when my f roat 
^-^ was dry? 

O, where would I be when the bullets fly? 
O, where would I be when I come to die? 

Why, 
Somewheres anigh my chum. 
If 'e's in liquor, Vll give me some, 
If I am dyin', Vll 'old my 'ead, 
An' 'e'll write 'ome when I'm dead. — 
Gawd send us a trusty chum! 

— Rudyard Kipling. 

"VEATH, who friend from friend can 
^^^ part, 



! 



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Brother rend from brother, 
Shall but link us, heart and heart, 

Closer to each other: 
We will call his anger play, 

Deem his dart a feather, 
When we meet him on our way 

Hand in hand together. 

— Winthrop Mackworth Praed. 

npHE wind is loud this bleak December 
A night, 
And moans like one forlorn at door and 
pane; 
But here within my chamber warm and 
bright, 
All household blessings reign. 

And as I sit and smoke, my eager soul 
Somewhat at times from out the Past will 
win, 
Whilst the light cloud wreathes upward 
from the bowl, 
That glows so red within. 

Often in this dim world two boys I see, 
Of ruddy cheek and open careless brow; 

And one am I, my fond heart whispers me, 
And one, dear Tom, art thou. 

So in this odorous cloud full oft I see 
Sweet forms of tender beauty ; and a tone 

Steals through the echoing halls of Memory, 
That these are all my own. 

68 







-li iiiiiTmTiriir m * , - ' V ^fci-<m^pii mwiii.i m^.j 

77b .ffKy SPa/ 



yt 



GIVE me your hand, my brother: you 
and I, ' 
Two waifs sent wandering here, we know 
not why, 
Where days are dark and winds blow 
through and through, 

Have need each of the other. 
Poor fools, we know not much! — if we but 
knew 
The secret singing of the earth, our 
mother, 
And whence the rose, and whither, we should 

see 
How I am part of you and you of me. 

We only know we stumble more alone 
Here where the suns too feeble and too few 
On us have shone. . . . 

Yet we have joy together, you and I: 
We have this glimpse of field and flower and 
sky, 
And tender clinging touch of children's 
hands, 

And love, the one sure star. 
Yea, trustful love that lightens lonely lands, 

Yea, love that singeth like a lark afar. 
What boon of striving? Nay, think what 

you will, 
For all our thinkings we are brothers still: 
One earth, one blood, one birth, one lord, 
the sun, 
By tropic wastes or silent Northern strands, 
Still bind us one. . . . 
















77o my SPa/ 



\ 




We have one goal together, you and I: 
We hear one echo of a wailing cry 

Incessant raised by sundered soul from 
soul 

Left lonely here as we. 
And if a land beyond the clouds that roll 
Or only sleep and dreamless dust there be, 
We know not, O my brother! But the 

dark 
Lightens a little with this single spark 
That with clasped hands and hearts we go 
as one, 
When through the dusk we hear the dim 
bell toll 

The day is done. 

— Charles Edward Russell. 

1V/TARGARET! my cousin — nay, you 
-** -*• must not smile, 
I love the homely and familiar phrase; 
And I will call thee cousin Margaret, 
However quaint amid the measured line, 
The good old term appears. O, it looks ill 
When delicate tongues disclaim old term of 

kin, 
Sirring and madaming as civilly 
As if the road between the heart and lips 
Were such a weary and Laplandish way, 
That the poor travelers came to the red 

gates 
Half frozen. Trust me, cousin Margaret, 
For many a day my memory hath played 



I 






|. 










f 












I 



The creditor with me, on your account, 
And made me shame, to think that I should 

owe 
So long a debt of kindness. But in truth, 
Like Christian on his pilgrimage, I bear 
So heavy a pack of business, that albeit 
I toil on mainly, in our twelve hours' race 
Time leaves me distanced. Loath indeed 

were I 
That for a moment you should lay to me 
Unkind neglect: mine, Margaret, is a heart 
That smokes not, yet methinks there should 

be some 
Who know how warm it beats. I am not 

one 
Who can play off my smiles and courtesies 
To every lady of her lap-dog tired, 
Who wants a plaything; I am no sworn 

friend 
To half an hour, as apt to leave as love; 
Mine are no mushroom feelings which 

spring up 
At once without a seed and take no root, 
Wiseliest distrusted. In a narrow sphere, 
The little circle of domestic life, 
I would be known and loved; the world be- 
yond 
Is not for me. But, Margaret, sure I think 
That you should know me well, for you 

and I 
Grew up together, and when we look back 
Upon old times our recollections paint 

71 



L/W^^'' ' a >• • '•' " ' ■' sz 



n i«fi-ir'-T Vi'i'i'h'h f"TT<n 



omy3°a/ 



The same familiar faces. Did I wield 
The wand of Merlin's magic I would make 
Brave witchcraft. . . . 
We might renew the days of infancy, 
And life like a long childhood pass away 
Without one care. It may be, Margaret, 
That I shall yet be gathered to my friends; 
For I am not one of those who live estranged 
Of choice, till at the last they join their race 
In the family vault. If so, I should lose, 
Like my old friend the pilgrim, this huge 

pack 
So heavy on my shoulders, I and mine 
Right pleasantly will end our pilgrimage. 
If not, if I should never get beyond 
This Vanity town, there is another world, 
Where friends will meet. And often, Mar- 
garet, 
I gaze at night into the boundless sky, 
And think that I shall there be born again, 
The exalted native of some better star; 
And, like the rude American, I hope 
To find in Heaven the things I loved on 
earth. — Robert Southey. 

rilHEIlE are no rules for friendship. It 
*■■ must be left to itself; we cannot force 
it any more than love. — William Hazlitt. 



i 



N kinsman, friend, of old was compre- 
hended : 

me one friend and hang up all my 
kindred. — John Eliot 



I 






i 




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"o .My SPat 



i 






rpHE long day's task is done at the set- 
*- ting of the sun, 

And work no longer has me in its gripe; 
So I sit here content with a mind on pleas- 
ure bent 
With my pal and my pint and my pipe. 

All day I plug along with a whistle or a 
song, 
But friendship now the work-day slate 
can wipe, 
And I can talk and joke, or take a drink 
and smoke 
With my pal and my pint and my pipe. 

My pal is good to see, easy-going and care- 
free, 
A hearty fellow of the self -same stripe: 
Sometimes I sit and chin, and sometimes I 
just grin 
With my pal and my pint and my pipe. 

As good a time as this I can't afford to 
miss — 
An hour or so just when the day is ripe; 
And I wish you all the glee that the evening 
brings to me 
With my pal and my pint and my pipe. 
— Alexander Maclean. 



OEVEN years, seven happy, careless 







Knew the same hopes, the self-same fears, 
Shared the same joys, shed the same tears, 
And were companions utterly. 

Now you are taken, I am left, 

And more than years between us roll; 

Yet am I not wholly bereft: 

Too close our union to be cleft, 
Too single not to be one soul. 

A share of you lives on in me, 

A share of me is lost to view; 
Half of those seven years is free 
Beyond this life, a half I see 

Within my heart, still shared with you. 

— Wallace Rice. 

rpWENTY years hence my eyes may 
**• grow, 

If not quite dim, yet rather so; 
Yet yours from others they shall know, 

Twenty years hence. 

Twenty years hence, though it may hap 
That I be called to take a nap 
In a cool cell where thunderclap 

Was never heard, 

There breathe but o'er my arch of grass 
A not too sadly sighed 'Alas!' 
And I shall catch, ere you can pass, 

That winged word. 
— Walter Savage Landor. 
74 




ii ii >i i. 'i ri.iii hi in i^^- \ n f \ — I,,., " i i mt?\ """ . , j.y^j 

77b my SPa/ 



' 















OWN a dog who is a gentleman. 
* By birth most surely, since the creature 

can 
Boast of a pedigree the like of which 
Holds not a Howard or a Metternich. 

By breeding. Since the walks of life he 

trod, 
He never wagged an unkind tail abroad, 
He never snubbed a nameless cur because 
Without a friend or credit-card he was. 

By pride. He looks you squarely in the 

face 
Unshrinking and without a single trace 
Of either diffidence or arrogant 
Assertion such as upstarts often flaunt. 

By tenderness. The littlest girl may tear 
With absolute impunity his hair, 
And pinch his silken, flowing ears the while 
He smiles upon her — yes, I've seen him 
smile. 

By loyalty. No truer friend than he 
Has come to prove his friendship's worth to 

me. 
He does not fear the master — knows no 

fear — 
But loves the man who is his master here. 

By countenance. If there be nobler eyes, 
More full of honor and of honesties, 

75 




i . 



•■; 



\ 






% 





In finer head, on broader shoulders found — 
Then I have never met the man or hound. 
Here is the motto on my life-boat's log: 
'God grant I may be worthy of my dog!' 

— Author Unknown. 

TTALF loving-kindliness, and half-dis- 
A A dain, 
Thou comest to my call serenely suave, 
With humming speech and gracious 
gestures grave, 
In salutation courtly and urbane: 

Yet must I humble me thy grace to 

gain — 
For wiles may win thee, but no arts en- 
slave, 
And nowhere gladly thou abidest save 
Where naught disturbs the concord of thy 

reign. 
Sphinx of my quiet hearth! who deign'st to 
dwell 
Friend of my toil, companion of mine 

ease, 
Thine is the lore of Ra and Rameses ; 
That men forget dost thou remember well, 

Beholden still in blinking reveries, 
With somber sea-green gaze inscrutable. 
— Rosamund Marriott Watson. 

A WOMAN can earn her pardon for a 
**' good year of disobedience by a single 
adroit submission. 

— Robert Louis Stevenson. 
76 


















A reg'lar out-an'-outer ; 
She's a dear good old gal, 

I'll tell you all about her: 
It's many years since fust we met, 
'Er 'air was then as black as jet; 
It's whiter now, but she don't fret, 
Not my old gal! 

We've been together now for forty years, 
An' it don't seem a day too much ; 

There ain't a lady livin' in the land 
As I'd swop for my dear old Dutch ! 

I calls 'er Sal — 

'Er proper name is Sairer, 
An' yer may find a gal 

As you'd consider fairer. 
She ain't an angel — she can start 
A jawin' till it makes you smart; 
She's just a Woman, bless 'er 'eart, 
Is my old gal! 

Sweet fine old gal, 

For worlds I wouldn't lose 'er; 
She's a dear good old gal, 

An' that's what made me choose 'er; 
She's stuck to me through thick an' thin, 
When luck was out, when luck was in — 
Ah, what a wife to me she's been, 
An' what a Pal! 

— Albert Chevalier. 
77 



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' 




'V/'OUR wedding ring wears thin, dear 
•"• wife; ah, summers not a few, 
Since I put it on your finger first, have 

passed o'er me and you; 
And, love, what changes we have seen — 

what cares and pleasures, too, 
Since you became my own dear wife, when 

this old ring was new! 

O partner of my gladness, wife, what care, 

what grief is there 
For me you w T ould not bravely face, wii.li 

me you would not share? 
Oh, what a weary want had every day, if 

wanting you, 
Wanting the love that God made mine 

when this old ring was new! 

The past is dear; its sweetnesses our memo- 
ries treasure yet; 

The griefs we've borne, together borne, we 
would not now forget; 

Whatever, wife, the future brings, heart 
unto heart still true, 

We'll share as we have shared all else since 
this old ring was new. 

— William Cox Bennett. 

TTAPPINESS, at least, is not solitary; 
**•*■■ it joys to communicate; it loves others, 
for it depends on them for its existence; it 
sanctions and encourages to all delights. 
— Robert Louis Stevenson. 
78 



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omyttt 



ONG enough have I lived and sought 
*~* to know the value of things, v 
To know the gold from the tinsel, to judge 

the clowns from the kings; 
Love have I known and been glad of, joys 

of the earth have been mine, 
But to-day I give my thanks for a rarer 
gift and fine. 
For the friendship of true women, Lord, 
that hath been since the world had 
breath, 
Since a woman stood at a woman's side 
to comfort through birth and death. 
You have made us a bond of mirth and 

tears to last for ever and ay — 
For the friendship of true women, Lord, 
take you my thanks to-day. 



Now much have I found to be glad of, much 

have I sorrowed for, 
But naught is better to hear than foot of a 

friend at the door; 
And naught is better to feel than the touch 

of a sister hand 
That says, 'What are words between us — 
I know and may understand.' 
For the friendship of true women, 
Lord, that hath lasted since time be- 
gan, 
That is deeper far and finer far than the 

friendship of man to man; 
For the tie of a kindred wonderful that 






is as blood-bonds ma 
friendship of true women, 
take you my thanks to-day. 

Many the joys I have welcomed, many the 

joys that have passed, 
But this is the good unfailing and this is 

the peace that shall last; 
From love that dies and love that lies and 

love that must cling and sting 
Back to the arms of our sisters we turn for 
our comforting. 
For the friendship of true women, Lord, 

that hath been and shall ever be 
Since a woman stood at a woman's side 

at the Cross of Calvary; 
For the tears we weep and the trusts we 
keep and the self -same prayers we 
pray— 
For the friendship of true women, Lord, 
take you my thanks to-day. 

— Theodosia Garrison. 

Tp NTREAT me not to leave thee, or to 
•*-^ return from following after thee: for 
whither thou goest, I will go; and where 
thou lodgest, I will lodge: thy people shall 
be my people, and thy God my God : where 
thou diest, will I die, and there will I be 
buried : the Lord do so to me, and more also, 
if aught but death part thee and me. 







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|N summer, when the days were long, 
*- We walked, two friends, in field and 

wood, 
Our heart was light, our step was strong, 

And life lay round us, fair as good, 
In summer, when the days are long. 

In summer, when the days are long, 

We leapt the hedge-row, crossed the 
brook ; 

And still her voice flowed forth in song, 
Or else she read some graceful book, 

In summer, when the days were long. 

We loved, and yet we knew it not, 

For loving seemed like breathing then; 

We found a heaven in every spot, 
Saw angels, too, in all good men, 

And dreamt of gods in grove and grot. 

In summer, when the days are long, 

Alone I wander, muse alone; 
I see her not, but that old song 

Under the fragrant wind is blown, 
In summer, when the days are long. 

Alone I wander in the wood, 

But one fair spirit hears my sighs; 

And half I see the crimson hood, 

The radiant hair, the calm glad eyes, 

That charmed me in life's summer mood. 

In summer, when the days are long, 
I love her as I loved of old 








My heart is light, my step is strong, 

For love brings back those hours of gold, 
In summer, when the days are long. 

— W. M. W. Call. 

QJHE is so winsome and so wise 
^ She sways us at her will, 
And oft the question will arise 
What mission does she fill? 

And so I say, with pride untold 

And love beyond degree, 
This woman with a heart of gold, 
She just keeps house for me. 

A full content dwells in her face, 

She's quite in love with life, 
And for a title wears with grace 

The sweet old-fashioned 'Wife.' 






What though I toil from morn till night, 

What though I weary grow, 
A spring of love and dear delight 

Doth ever softly flow. 

Our children climb upon her knee 

And lie upon her breast, 
And ah! her mission seems to me 
The highest and the best. — 
And so I say, with pride untold 

And love beyond degree, 
This woman with the heart of gold, 
She just keeps house for me. 

— Jean Blewett. 
82 



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TTIWAS beyond at Macreddin, at Owen 
**■ Doyle's weddin', 
The boys got the pair of us out for a reel. 
Says I, 'Boys, excuse us/ Says they, 
'Don't refuse us.' 
'I'll play nice and aisy,' says Larry 
O'Neill. 
So off we went trippin' it, up an' down step- 
pm it — 
Herself and Myself on the back of the 
doore ; 
Till Molly— God bless her!— fell into the 
dresser, 
And I tumbled over a child on the 
floore. 
Says Herself to Myself, 'We're good as 
the best o' them.' 
Says Myself to Herself, 'Sure, we're 
betther than gold.' 
Says Herself to Myself, 'We're as young 
as the rest o' them.' 
Says Myself to Herself, 'Troth, we'll 
never grow old.' 

As down the lane goin', I felt my heart 
growin* 
As young as it was forty-five years ago. 
'Twas here in this boreen I first kissed my 
stoireen — 
A sweet little colleen with skin like the 
snow. 
I looked at my woman — a song she was 
hummin' 




'■'T*--' 1 - 1 " '■'-!-■ -"n^-iy 




As old as the hills, so I gave her a pogue ; 
'Twas like our old courtin', half sarious, half 
sportin', 
When Molly was young, an' when hoops 
were in vogue. 
When she'd say to Myself, 'You can coort 
with the best o' them.' 
When I'd say to Herself, 'Sure, I'm bet- 
ther than gold.' 
When she'd say to Myself, 'You're as wild 
as the rest o' them.' 
And I'd say to Herself, 'Troth, I'm time 
enough old.' 

— Patrick Joseph McCall. 



rilHE road slopes on that leads us to the 



1 



last, 



And we two tread it softly, side by side ; 
'Tis a blithe count the milestones we have 
passed, 
Step fitting step, and each of us for 
guide. 
My love, and I thy love, our road is fair, 
And fairest most because the other's there: 
Our road is fair, adown the harvest hill, 
But fairest that we two are we two still. 



We two, we two! the children's smiles are 
dear: 
Thank God how dear the bonny chil- 
dren's smiles — 
But 'tis we two among our own ones here, 

84 



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We two along life's way through all the 
whiles. 
To think if we had passed each other by; 
And he not he apart, and I not I! 

And oh to think if we had never known; 
And I not I and he not he alone! 

— Augusta Webster. 

rilWO lovers by a moss-grown spring: 
*■ They leaned soft cheeks together 
there, 
Mingled the dark and sunny hair, 
And heard the wooing thrushes sing. 
O budding time! 
O love's blest prime! 

Two wedded from the portal stepped: 
The bells made happy carollings, 
The air was soft as fanning wings, 
White petals on the pathway slept. 
O pure-eyed bride! 
O tender pride! 

Two faces o'er a cradle bent i 

Two hands above the head were locked; 
These pressed each other while they 
rocked, 
Those watched a life that love had sent. 
O solemn hour! 
O hidden power! 

Two parents by the evening fire : 
The red light fell about their knees 

85 



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On heads that rose by slow degrees 
Like buds upon the lily spire. 
O patient life! 
O tender strife! 



The two still sat together there, 

The red light shone about their knees; 
But all the heads by slow degrees 
Had gone and left that lonely pair. 
O voyage fast! 
O vanished past! 

The red light shone upon the floor, 

And made the space between them wide; 
They drew their chairs up side by side, 
Their pale cheeks joined, and said, "Once 
more !" 

O memories! 
O past that is ! 

— George Eliot. 

r> ETTER trust all and be deceived, 
*** And weep that trust, and that de- 
ceiving, 
Than doubt one heart that, if believed, 
Had blessed one's life with true believing. 

Oh, in this doubting world, too fast 

The doubting fiend o'ertakes our youth! 
Better be cheated to the last 

Than lose the blessed hope of truth. 
— Frances Anne Kemble. 
86 



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' I i i i i m i iillllH I"!! 1 

~?o my fa/ 



/CHRISTMAS is here; 
^■^ Winds whistle shrill, 
Icy and chill, 
Little care we; 
Little we fear 
Weather without 
Sheltered about 
The mahogany tree. 

Once on the boughs 
Birds of rare plume 
Sang in its bloom; 
Night-birds are we; 
Here we carouse, 
Singing like them, 
Perched around the stem 
Of the jolly old tree, 

Here let us sport, 
Boys, as we sit, — 
Laughter and wit 
Flashing so free. 
Life is but short, — 
When we are gone, 
Let them sing on, 
Round the old tree. 



! 

i 
I- 



Evenings we knew, 
Happy as this; 
Faces we miss, 
Pleasant to see. 
Kind hearts and true, 





« 



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Care, like a dun, 
Lurks at the gate: 
Let the dog wait; 
Happy we'll be! 
Drink, every one; 
Pile up the coals; 
Fill the red bowls, 
Round the old tree! 

Drain we the cup. — 
Friend, art afraid? 
Spirits are laid 
In the Red Sea. 
Mantle it up; 
Empty it yet; 
Let us forget, 
Round the old tree! 

Sorrows, begone! 

Life and its ills, 

Duns and their bills, 

Bid we to flee. 

Come with the dawn 

Blue-devil sprite; 

Leave us to-night 

Round the old tree! 

William Makepeace Thackeray. 



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WE have no money, little Pal, you say? — » 
It's true enough. We've none to 

pay 

Our pressing bills, and credit's under par; 
Yet — many joyous things there are. 

The skies are blue and shining every morn 

And every day new hope is born, 

And every night there twinkles out our 

star ; 
Yes — many joyous things there are. 

But these buy less than nothing, you re- 
peat? — 
Ah, true enough, yet are they sweet! 
O little Pal, forget that coin's afar 
When many joyous things there are. 

And every day, poor Pal, you scrape and 

pinch 
And work an ell to save an inch? — 
Poor Pal, I know it starts a family jar; 
Still — many joyous things there are. 

Take cheer, dear Pal, some day the tide will 

turn ; 
Money there'll be some day — to burn! 
Just being broke can never leave a scar 
So many joyous things there are. 

Ah, here's my smile and kiss at last! These 

shall 
Light every gloom for us, dear Pal : 

89 



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77b fflty SPa/ 



Such love as ours displaces every bar 
To all the joyous things there are. 

— Alexander MacLean. 



¥■ 



QHE gave her life to love. She never 
^ knew 

What other women give their all to gain. 
Others were fickle. She was passing true. 

She gave pure love, and faith without a 
stain. 

She never married. Suitors came and 
went: 
The dark eyes flashed their love on one 
alone. 
Her life was passed in quiet and content. 
The old love reigned. No rival shared 
the throne. 






Think you her life was wasted? Vale and 
hill 
Blossomed in summer, and white winter 
came : 
The blue ice stiffened on the silenced rill: 
All times and seasons found her still the 
same. 

Her heart was full of sweetness to the end. 

What once she gave, she never took away. 

Through all her youth she loved one faithful 

friend : 













\TOTJ talk about some maiden fair 
«* With alabaster brow 
Her face like snowdrifts soft and rare — 

As poets oft allow; 
Your parian, pentelic maid — 

Admire her, ye who can! 
My choice is for a darker shade, 

The girl of healthy tan. 

The neck they liken to the swan, 

The goose has, quite as true ; 
The maid with ivory forehead wan 

•May have a blockhead, too; 
But nut-brown damsels are the thing 

For me or any man ; 
The summer girl's the one I sing, 

The girl with wholesome tan! 

The snow-white pallor some desire 

Cold hands and feet foretell; 
The marble brows they so admire 

Mean marble hearts as well; 
Give me the warm, fresh blood that flows 

On nature's freest plan, 
The jolly pal whose friendship glows, 

The girl with summer tan! 

— John Jarvis Holden. 

'HEN my turn comes, dear shipmates 
all, 
Oh, do not weep for me ; 
n a hammock 








For it's no good weeping 
When a shipmate's sleeping, 
And the long watch keeping 
At the bottom of the sea. 

But think of me sometimes and say : 

'He did his duty right, 
And strove the best he knew to please 
His captain in the fight'; 
But it's no use weeping 
When a shipmate's sleeping, 
And the long watch keeping 
Through the long, long night. 

And let my epitaph be these words : 

'Cleared for this port, alone, 
A craft that was staunch, and sound, and 
true — 
Destination unknown'; 

And there's no good weeping 
When a shipmate's sleeping, 
And the long watch keeping 
All alone, all alone. 

And mark this well, my shipmates dear 

Alone the long night through, 
Up there in the darkness behind the stars 
I'll look out sharp for you; 
So, there's no good weeping 
When a shipmate's sleeping, 
And the long watch keeping 
All the long night through. 

— Barrett Eastman, 






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T'S we two, it's we two, it's we two for 

ay, 
All the world and we two, and Heaven be 

our stay. 
Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny 

bride ! 
All the world was Adam once, with Eve by 

his side. 

What's the world, my lass, my love! — what 

can it do ? 
I am thine, and thou art mine; life is sweet 

and new. 
If the world have missed the mark, let it 

stand by; 
For we two have gotten leave, and once 

more we'll try. 

Like a laverock in the lift, sing, O bonny 

bride ! 
It's we two, it's we two, happy side by side. 
Take a kiss from me, thy man; now the 

song begins: 
'All is made afresh for us, and the brave 

heart wins.' 

When the darker days come, and no sun 

will shine, 
Thou shalt dry my tears, lass, and I'll dry 

thine. 
It's we two, it's we two, while the world's 

away, 







Sitting by the golden sheaves on our wed- 
ding day. — Jean Ingelow. 

/^URSED is he who doth disclose 

^- / The converse held beneath the rose! 

When friend meets friend, salute the sign, 
And toast it well in ale or wine. 

The world may seek to pry within; 
May swear you do a secret sin ; 

But shun them for their taunts and jeers, 
And hate them for their itching ears! 

Believe me, it is Heaven to blend 
In faith with a familiar friend. 

— Charles Dalmon. 






\\T1LKN at the last, the earthly end, 
* * Grey Death his final peace shall 

send, 
I shall not part from you, my friend. 

I shall but pass to such a place 
As this world is, when for a space 
Affection shines upon your face. 

I go where friendship is aglow, 
Where love is all we need to know ; 
And you will come where I shall go. 

— Wallace Rice. 



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